


The Night's Watch: Lattes and Longclaws

by BreakfastLunchAndDinner, thegracious



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Band Fic, Crack, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Hilarity Ensues, Multimedia, Stark Family Fluff, University AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastLunchAndDinner/pseuds/BreakfastLunchAndDinner, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegracious/pseuds/thegracious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This class is for graduate students only," Hawick said, dragging her eyes away from Sansa's Keds. "I've told the department repeatedly that I will not be accepting undergrads for any of my classes." </p><p>"Er, I am a graduate student, ma'am." Sansa tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It was the glittery Keds. She knew it. </p><p>~</p><p>In which Pyp and Grenn deep fry Longclaws, Jon rides a Bloodrider, Danaerys is a privileged ass, Bran has an elevator, Sam and little Sam hang out, Sansa plays the ukelele, Ned dated Robert Baratheon, everyone in Westeros breaks up with Robb, Petyr attempts to make Sansa a movie star,  Arya thinks Jon is a traitor, Jaqen publishes The Gift, Rickon texts Theon, Benjen is Ikea, Stannis buys hot chocolate, Oberyn and Willas drag race, Jeor Mormont opens a cafe, and, as always, Jon Snow knows nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Café au lait and a bear claw, please.

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by [The 39 Steps](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3258368/chapters/7104839) by [ikkiMM](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM) and [tafkar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tafkar/pseuds/tafkar). Also, [I'll be the frosting to your cupcake, wench](http://archiveofourown.org/works/608897) by [janie_tangerine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine).
> 
> Many thanks to [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice) for agreeing to beta-read this work! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, umm. I - well, I’ll have a café au lait, and er.” He chewed his lip. “One of those bear claws, please.”
> 
> “Longclaws.” Gilly corrected.
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “They’re called Longclaws. Will ya have this to go, or are ya eatin’ in?”

 

“Good afternoon, welcome to the Night’s Watch. What can I get for ya today?”

 

The customer at the counter jumped. Inwardly, Gilly sighed. She hated the indecisive customers the most - they held up the line- and the ones following them tended to be surlier than usual after being made to wait for so long.

 

“I, umm. I - well, I’ll have a cafe au lait, and er.” He chewed his lip. “One of those bear claws, please.”

 

“Longclaws.” Gilly corrected.

 

“What?”

 

“They’re called Longclaws. Will ya have this to go, or are ya eatin’ in?”

 

“Oh! Eating in, I suppose. I’m watching my friend’s band play today.” He nodded at the stage, where Satin was helping the band set up.

 

“That’ll be 7.98,” Gilly announced. “Who’s it for?”

 

“Make it out for Sam, please.”

 

She marked his name onto the cup.

 

“I’m, er, sorry.”

 

Gilly looked up, and stared. “What for?”

 

The man flushed. “For - for not knowing they were called Longclaws. I don’t get out much, see, and to be honest, I’d rather stay at home and study for my exam than watch Jon play. But don’t tell him I said that!”

 

Baggy pants, a shirt way too large even for his fat frame, and mouseburn on his right hand. “Yeah, I can see that. That’ll be 7.98,” she repeated.

 

“Oh!” the man - Sam, he said his name was - fumbled with his wallet, and handed her a 10-stag note. “Does it really look like I don’t want to watch Jon? Because I want to be a supportive friend -”

 

“No, I meant that I can see that ya don’t get out much.” She handed him his change. “Thank you for buying at the Night’s Watch. Satin will call your name when your order is finished.”

 

“Oh - well - thank you. I’m sorry I never got your name?”

 

She squinted at him. Customers don’t usually bother with cashier’s names. “Gilly,” she said finally.

 

“Oh, after the flower in the Far North!” Sam smiled at her uncertainly. “It was nice to meet you, Gilly.”

 

He dropped the two stags into her tip jar, then left.

 

~

 

 

~

 

“I’m glad you made it, Sam.” Jon said, crashing into the seat next to him. “Pyp and Grenn can’t watch us play - they’re still frying bear claws for Dr. Mormont. I have no -”

 

“Longclaws,” Sam corrected.   


 

“Are they longer than bear claws?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why are they called Longclaws?”

 

Sam shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. That’s just what Gilly said.”

 

“Gilly, eh?” His friend broke into a conspiratorial grin. “Look at you, Sam, gettin’ all the girls!”

 

“What - no! I wasn’t getting girls! Gilly wasn’t gotten! She was just -”

 

“Café au lait for Sam?” the barista, who had been eying Jon since they were setting up the equipment, called.

 

~

 

The bear claw was very good. That was probably why Dr. Mormont had been so proud of it, he’d named it “after the family’s lost ancestral sword!”

 

He had no idea why he seemed to be the only one in their group concerned about Mormont’s exam in their Immunology class. Pyp and Grenn hadn’t been studying at all - between their Longclaw-frying and their partying at Molestown, it’s a wonder they still have time to sleep at all. Jon hadn’t been showing up for study sessions either. He’d been too busy recording Jon Snow and the Stark’s first album.

 

There was a screech from the mike. At the stage, Jon winced, and adjusted his banjo - banjo?! “Hello, everyone! I’m Jon Snow and these are the Starks.” Behind him, his cousins Robb and Sansa waved, then went back to tuning their instruments. “Thank you for coming out here to watch us tonight. We’re going to be playing the songs from our EP, _Jonquil_ , which you can find on our SoundCloud.”

 

Sansa looked up from tuning her ukelele, and glared at him.

 

“It’s at Jon Snow and the Starks.”

 

Another glare from Sansa.

 

“You - you can Google it!”

 

Sam groaned. Jon won’t get any fans at this rate. Although judging from how the barista kept smiling at him, he’d already made at least one.

 

“Anyway - our first song tonight is ‘Knight of the Flowers.’ That’s Knight with a K. So, er, okay. Uh, here it is.”

 

Jon cleared his throat. Sam had never really pegged Jon for a singer - he was much too introverted to really be the front man of a band, really.

 

Then Sansa started singing followed by Robb.

 

Despite his mike, and his spot at center stage, Jon didn’t do much of anything except play his banjo. Even the song he knew Jon had written (“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” Sansa and Robb had sung in duet) didn’t have a spot of vocals from Jon.

 

By the end of their six-song EP, Sam was thoroughly confused. Jon was socially awkward, and was not the vocalist. Why make him the front man at all?”

 

“Thanks, everyone, for listening,” Jon said after their last song.

 

The fifteen or so customers in the shop clapped uncertainly. Robb did a jaunty little bow, and Sansa beamed.

 

“We have another song lined -”

 

“You suck! Especially you, banjo dude!” A skinny boy in a hoodie yelled.

 

“Booo,” The boy in a wheelchair next to Hoodie said unenthusiastically. It probably wasn’t politically correct to call him “Wheelchair”, so Sam settled on Ginger.

 

“You know what will make this better?” another ginger at their table called. “Blackjack and strippers!”

 

“You’re too young for strippers, Rickon!” Sansa screeched from the stage. “And you should be doing homework!”

 

“Anyway,” Jon coughed into the mike, “We have one last song for you guys tonight. It’s called ’Save You From Your Tower”. Um -”

 

“It’s a song about sweet new love,” Robb interrupted, “and it’s dedicated to Roslin Frey. I know we parted on bad terms, but -”

 

“Roslin’s not even here!” Hoodie yelled again.

 

“Uhh, this song goes out to Gilly and Sam, not Robb and Roslin,” Jon rushed out. He immediately retreated, not meeting Sam’s gaze.

 

Sam flushed, and glanced back at the counter in panic. Gilly’s eyes were as round and surprised as his were, and her cheeks were just as red.

 

His heart skipped a beat.

 

~

 

After the gig, the Starks went out to Green Fork for dinner to celebrate.

 

“Come on, Sam, join us!” Robb had grinned. “I’m sure you’ve done enough studying for your exam, and besides, you and Jon can always cram for it over dinner, if you really want to study!”

 

He’d nearly refused, but Jon had reminded him that he couldn’t live on Burger Khal takeout forever, and if they had the opportunity to eat off of Robb’s trust fund income, then they might as well take it.

 

“Well - if you’re sure.” he’d said, and Arya (Hoodie was apparently Jon’s cousin) had snorted.

 

“Of course we’re sure - we need someone else to tell Sansa, Robb, and the traitor that their music was terrible.”

 

“For the _last_ time, Arya, I didn’t _betray_ you! Sansa asked me to play for them first!”

 

“Well, it’s your fault that Rickon has to learn bass in three months!”

 

“Wha - I have to learn it in _three months_?! Arya!!?”

 

“I’ve already scheduled vocalist auditions! I put out flyers and everything! I _told_ you last week!”

 

“Bran! Tell her she didn’t tell me!”

 

“But she did! She left a note on your face last week while you were asleep, and you drooled all over it so the ink ran.”

 

Sansa and Robb brought up the rear of their group as they walked into Green Fork. Sansa was clutching a CD case and was exclaiming about the cover.

 

“I love the art, Robb! It must’ve taken you so long to make it! You’re the best!”

 

Later, he heard Robb confessing to Jon in an undertone: “I completely forgot she asked me to do it. I made it on Word for like five seconds this morning, and then printed them out for the CD sleeves.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image for Jonquil's EP Cover taken from http://nationalpondservice.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/Large-pond-with-evergreens.jpg and edited on MS Word by kimdmagicdragon, in literally five minutes.
> 
> EDIT: Minor edits made 10/6/2015


	2. Six Longclaws, Drive-Through (The Starks + Jon Snow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do we get the Qarthian Spice salsa or not?” 
> 
> He grimaced. “Can’t we get it milder?” 
> 
> Arya shook her head. “They only have Qarthian Spice or Dothraki Screamer.” she replied, tossing the Cheez-its at Bran.

“I move that we use the time spent in traffic for Stark Family Meetings,” Sansa announced suddenly.

 

All of her siblings groaned, except Rickon, who was wearing earphones and playing on his GameBoy at the back of the minivan.

 

“Stark Family Meetings?” Arya whined, putting down her iPad. “Don’t we have enough of those in Winterfell?”

 

“No! There are a lot of things we need to discuss -- our chore schedules, for one.”

 

“Motion seconded!” Robb called from the driver’s seat.

 

“Makes sense,” Jon agreed.

 

“Couldn’t have expected more from the traitor,” Arya muttered. She leaned back and yanked the earphones from Rickon’s ears. “Oi!”

 

“Hey!”

 

“We’re having a Stark Family Meeting, and if I have to suffer through it, so do you.”

 

“Is this about the bathroom thing? Because if it’s that, I had nothing to do with it!”

 

“What bathroom thing?” asked Sansa, suspicious.

 

Bran rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows it was you, Rickon. There’s no point denying it.”

 

“That was you? Give me that GameBoy! You’re grounded for a week, young man!”

 

“Now, now,” Robb sighed. “Let the boy have his GameBoy. He’ll just have to clean up the bathroom himself, right, Rickon?”, looking meaningfully at Rickon over the rearview mirror.

 

“Fine.” Rickon sulked.

 

“I move that whenever there’s a bathroom thing, Rickon has to take care of it!”

 

“Arya!”

 

“All in agreement, say aye.”

 

There was a chorus of ayes.

 

“That’s decided, then,” Sansa said, satisfied. “Next order of business -- who wants to take notes of the meeting?”

 

There was a chorus of nays.

 

“Come off it, guys, someone needs to do it!”

 

“Then why don’t you do it, Sansa?”

 

“Fine!” She whipped out her phone, and pulled up the sound recorder. “Stark Family Meeting Drive 1. July 25. We have decided that Rickon shall take care of the bathroom thing.”

 

Behind her, Rickon groaned.

 

“Next order of business: Sansa will record the meetings and email everyone the minutes the following evening. Everyone must reply to indicate that they have received and read it.

 

Arya groaned this time. “Required readings?I’m already taking a philosophy class this semester -- I will die from all the reading!”

 

“Don’t be silly, that’s not possible. I move that we elect or appoint a family treasurer.”

 

“It won’t be you, that’s for sure.”

 

“Not Sansa!”

 

“It can’t be Sansa!”

 

“I’m sorry, Sansa, I’m with them on this one.”

 

“You’re right,” Sansa sighed.

 

“I’ll do it,” Bran volunteered.

 

“Jon can do it!” said Arya, ignoring Bran entirely. “He’s really thrifty.”

 

“It can’t be Jon -- we’ll eat nothing but cheap canned food every damned day!” Robb protested vehemently.

 

“But it’ll last forever! If there’s a zombie apocalypse --”

 

“I can do it!” Bran interrupted.

 

“”-- and if you make me treasurer, I promise I’ll stock up on emergency rations! Winter is coming!” Jon continued.

 

“I’ll do it if you pay me!”

 

“You failed algebra, Rickon!”

 

“I’m in advanced calculu-”

 

“Shut up, everyone!” Robb snapped. “I name Bran treasurer in my capacity as Lord Stark in absentia of Lord Stark.”

 

There were grumbles all around, but eventually everyone agreed.

 

From his chair, Bran smiled.

 

“Ugh, I can’t stand your smug face,” groused Arya, throwing a pillow at him.

 

“Hey!”

 

“That was mine!”

 

“Give it back!”

 

“No fighting!”

 

“You’re not mom!”

 

“Shut up, I’m driving!” Robb bellowed. He accidentally swerved into the next lane. Bran’s chair squeaked.

 

“We’ll finish this later -- shut up while I’m trying to park!”

 

Everybody quieted down. They all remembered the last (disastrous) time Robb had tried to park in a grocery store parking lot.

 

~

 

“Can we get chicken nuggets?”

 

“No!” Sansa snapped.

 

“Yes,” said Jon. Sansa glared at him.

 

“What? They’re cheap!” he defended.

 

Sansa turned to Rickon. “I can make them for you from scratch,” she bargained.

 

“Your chicken nuggets suck,” Rickon said flatly, dropping the package into the cart and leaving.

 

~

 

“Get the Cheez-Its, get the Cheez-Its!” Bran hissed. The basket in his lap was already packed with junk food.

 

“Do we get the Qarthian Spice salsa or not?”

 

He grimaced. “Can’t we get it milder?”

 

Arya shook her head. “They only have Qarthian Spice or Dothraki Screamer,” she replied, tossing the Cheez-Its at Bran.

 

“We could make our own?” Bran suggested.

 

“Oh, Sansa would just love that.”

 

They both pulled a face.

 

~

 

“Theon?” Robb blurted.

 

Theon squinted. “Robb Stark?” He was holding a package of frozen squid.

 

“Uh, yeah. I haven’t seen you since you left Winterfell.” He looked at his feet. “You didn’t even call.”

 

“Umm, sorry about that.”

 

They stared at each other across the frozen seafood aisle, and to Robb, they couldn’t have been further apart.

 

“So, you’re not vegan anymore, huh?” Robb asked, trying to be light and witty.

 

Theon looked at the squid in his hands. “Not really, these are for Asha, my -”

 

“Theon, love, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” An older woman appeared from behind the butcher’s aisle, hooking an arm around Theon’s waist.

 

Robb colored. “I think Jon’s - um, it was nice to - bye.”

 

He fled.

 

~

 

Sansa and Jon were in the wine section, arguing about which Dornish Red to get for cooking, when Robb pushed past the both of them and headed straight to the beer.

 

“Wha - Robb?”

 

He grabbed a can from the shelf, popped it open, and downed it in one gulp.

 

~

 

“I hate Moons and Stars!!! You can’t make me eat it!”

 

“Don’t be a baby, Rickon,” Arya snapped irritably. “It’s not for you anyway. You can share with Bran’s Raisin Bran.”

 

“Nope, I’m not sharing,” Bran pronounced. “I’ve seen my schedule for the semester, and I’m going to have a 9 am class.”

 

“So?” Arya asked, rummaging around the shelves for an un-squashed box of Moons and Stars.

 

“That means we’re all going to have to be up by 6 if we want to leave home by 730 washed, clothed, and fed. I’m not wasting any time cooking, ergo --” He raised his Econo box of Raisin Bran.

 

Arya froze. “That means Sansa won’t have time to cook her Myrish toast bullshit. She takes an hour and a half in the bathroom.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Shit!” she swore. “That bitch is going to steal my Moons and Stars!”

 

~

 

Rickon glared at Jon. “Why are you getting that steak, that steak is terrible.”

 

Jon snorted. “How can you even tell? Anyway, it’s cheap.” He turned to the butcher. “I’ll have two and a half kilograms of the value sandwich steak, please.”

 

The butcher blinked at Jon. “We sell meat in pounds.”

 

Jon’s eyelid twitched. Rickon pounced at Jon’s hesitation. “We’ll get six porterhouse steaks.”

 

The butcher was already wrapping up Rickon’s steaks in cling-wrap when Jon managed to get out a strangled “You don’t use the metric system?”

 

~

 

Arya was pushing Bran down the candy aisle. Bran was now holding several items from spilling out of the basket in his lap. They had to hurry or else Sansa would freak out and --

 

Sansa was looking at a pyramid of dill pickles, frowning. Rickon’s nuggets were no longer in the cart. A box of Cheez-Its fell out of Bran’s basket.

 

Sansa looked up. “Arya? Bran?” she asked - and then saw the basket in Bran’s lap.

 

“Bran, run, I’ll handle her!,” Arya cried, giving Bran a boost. “Find Robb and get to the checkout, hurry!”

 

“Were those pizza pockets?” Sansa shrieked. “Do you know how much preservatives are in that stuff?”  

 

~

 

“Excuse me, sir, but have you paid for those products?”

 

“Er. No.”

 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to pay for the beer now. And if you’d like to continue drinking it, I will have to ask you to leave the selling area - eating inside the stock aisles can attract vermin.”

 

“...Right. I’ll do that.”

 

~

~

“ - you have any idea how using the Old Ways of measurement can kill you? I know that traditions are important, but the metric system was created so we could put actual standards, it’s only there to make life easier for everyone! It’s supposed to make everyone safer too, what if a patient can only eat exactly two hundred grams of shellfish before reaching toxic levels of allergens? There are reasons why the medical community was so insistent on changing the laws regarding measurement systems in the Seven Kingdoms, and -”

 

~

 

There was an almighty crash.

 

~

** **

**~**

 

“Rickon, ew, get away from me! You stink!”

 

“You pushed me into the pickles, so this is your fault!”

 

“As treasurer, I move that the cost for the broken pickles be charged to Arya’s allowance.”

 

“Bran! It was for the greater good of the Cheez-its!”

 

“And because of your stupid move none of us have any Cheez-its!”

 

“Or Pizza Pockets. Or Chicken Nuggets.”

 

“Or Dothraki Screamer Salsa.”

 

“Ew, you like that stuff?”

 

“I move that we leave Rickon at the apartment while we eat dinner out.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“We still don’t have emergency rations!”

 

“We don’t have any rations, thanks to Arya.”

 

“Stop fighting, guys.”

  
“We’ll just have to eat out, and drive through that cafe on the corner to get breakfast for tomorrow.”

 

~

~

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess whose order was whose :))  
> \- urgraciousgrace
> 
> For the media: 
> 
> The HarrenFood receipt for pickles and beer -  
> http://www.fakereceipt.us/sales_receipt.php
> 
> The Green Fork receipt -  
> http://cdn1.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/1021466/0329GreenFork.0.jpg (logo)  
> receipt made in https://invoice-generator.com
> 
> The Night's Watch receipt -  
> http://www.customreceipt.com/index.php


	3. Soy Chai Latte; Non-Fat White Chocolate Mocha with Extra Whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, so that’s their names then?” Loras cocked his eyebrow. “We’ve been calling them Beardy and Broody for ages, ever since they first started coming over to look at the building.” 
> 
> Sansa laughed. “So, what have you been calling me, then?”
> 
> Loras had a twinkle in his eye. “You, my dear, we’ve been calling Gorgeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Receipt made at: http://www.customreceipt.com/index.php
> 
> Please note that the images used in this chapter are too large, so don't forget to scroll right and left to see everything. Apologies about the formatting, but ugh we are technologically impaired ducks who do not know how to fix this thingy

That morning, on their way to King’s, Sansa brought up the dreaded topic: chores.

 

“Alright, everyone, I know we’re all going to be busy registering for class, and in Rickon’s case, enrolling himself into high school, but we need to figure out the chores.”

 

Everyone groaned. Sansa turned on her voice recorder, and cleared her throat.

 

“Stark Family Meeting Drive 5. Agenda: chore schedule, finally moving on from the Room Assignment Debate,” she recited primly.

 

Behind her, Arya glared daggers at Sansa’s head.

 

“Well, we have to list down everything we need to do first,” said Robb.

 

“There’s making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then -”

 

“Why don’t we just put up a Google Doc for this?”

 

Jon looked at Bran over the rearview mirror. “That’s a good idea. We can list the stuff down there. Everyone bringing their laptops?”

 

There was a general murmur of confirmation.

 

“That’s settled. Someone can set up a Doc for this, and then we’ll list down the chores we think need to be done by, say, noon?”

 

“I don’t know if there’s WiFi in the high school,” Rickon objected.

 

“Then hang out at the Stormbucks by the Math building - no one ever goes there, and the WiFi is reasonably reliable.”  

 

“But Robb - I don’t know where the Math building is. I haven’t even been in King’s Landing for a week. I don’t know where anything is!”

 

“Rickon, don’t get a coffee. Remember what happened last time?”

 

“I’ll just pick him up from school and we can both go to Stormbucks,” Jon volunteered. “The WiFi in the Med building sucks.”

 

“Jon - we’ll have to drop by RadioHold. I’ve already called the cable company to get an Internet connection, but we need to get a router. I told you yesterday, remember?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Too bad, Rickon. ”

 

“Don’t worry Rickon, we’ll come get you, and then we can all hang out in Stormbucks together,” Arya assured him. “Wolfsblood is a pack; we don’t abandon anyone.”

 

Bran rolled his eyes. “Wolfsblood is a band, Arya. Stop being dramatic.”

 

“Anyway -” Sansa cut in, “I’ll put up a doc, and link everyone to it. The chores list should be finished by noon, then I’ll assign the chores alternately. The afternoon will be for resolving any objections. Everyone agreed?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“You suck, Sansa.”

 

~

~

Sansa finished her registration early, and because it was off hours, she managed to make it back to Blue Knight Street before noon. She had already unlocked the door to their apartment when she remembered that Robb hasn’t set up the WiFi yet, and banged her head into the door in frustration.

 

“Something troubling you?” a pleasant voice behind her asked.

 

She whirled around, and behind her stood the most attractive man she’s ever met. He had curly brown hair and laughing brown eyes to match, and he had the most adorable dimple on his cheek when he smiled.

 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Sansa stammered. “We just moved in and Robb hasn’t set up the WiFi yet, so…”

 

“The cafe at the corner has free WiFi, if you need it,” the hottie said. “They place has good coffee too, and the WiFi is decent if not particularly fast.”

 

Sansa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and resisted the urge to giggle. “That’s good to know. Thanks, uh…” she trailed off.

 

“Loras,” he supplied, and held out his hand. Sansa shook it. “Loras Tyrell, I live in 2A.”

 

“I’m Sansa Stark.” She gestured to the door behind her. “I, uh, live there.”

 

Loras laughed. “Well, Sansa Stark, I was just going out to get coffee. Want to come with me?” he winked.

 

~

 

 

~

 

“So, I hear you paid a magnificent pet deposit,” Loras said over coffee. At the stage,  an all-girl band was playing some snazzy jazz tunes.

 

“Well, we have six dogs at home, actually. But Bran needed to bring Summer, Shaggy won’t listen to anyone except Rickon, and Arya threw a fit.” She rolled her eyes. “It could have been worse, us older kids could have demanded to bring ours too, but we’re-”

 

“Wait, you’re all siblings there?” Loras interrupted, surprised.

 

“Well, Jon’s actually our cousin, but I think my parents just went, ‘What the hell, we have five kids already’ and just sort of adopted him.”

 

“Which one’s Jon, then?” Loras asked slyly. “Bearded redhead or broody brunette?”

 

“Broody brunette,” Sansa confirmed. “Bearded redhead is Robb.”

 

“Oh, so that’s their names then?” Loras cocked his eyebrow. “We’ve been calling them Beardy and Broody for ages, ever since they first started coming over to look at the building.”

 

Sansa laughed. “So, what have you been calling me, then?”

 

Loras had a twinkle in his eye. “You, my dear, we’ve been calling Gorgeous.”

 

Sansa started, blushed, tried to come up with an appropriate comeback, and blurted “You really don’t mind me working, do you, because I really do need to use the WiFi here and -”

 

Loras cut her off and said, very easily, “No, I don’t mind. I’m here to watch my cousins play, actually.” He gestured towards the band on the stage. “Frankly, they’re terrible, but what can you do? They’re family, you know?” Loras raised his coffee cup at the lead singer, who smiled and winked at him when she saw.

 

“Yeah,” Sansa said, a soft smile coming to her face. “I know how that goes.” She opened her laptop, and signed on to check on the chore list she’d made for her siblings.

 

 

It only got worse when she scrolled down.

 

 

Loras looked over her shoulder. "You know, Google Docs has a built-in chat box."

 

Sansa buried her face in her hands.

 

 


	4. Double espresso shot hazel frappe with extra whip, and white chocolate mocha non fat with extra whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She signalled the bartender. "I need two more Tears of Lys here," she called, before going back to rubbing Loras' back. 
> 
> "Marg, he can't leave me. What am I going to do if the sun sets?" he demanded. He gestured wildly with his drink, and half of the liquid sloshed out. "I mean, there are light bulbs and candles, I guess, but -"

It was eight am on a Thursday, and Loras was in line at the Night's Watch with Renly for their morning coffee, as was usual. Both of them were on their phones.

 

"No, I don't want Ros, Petyr. She's too sexy for this shoot. I need someone doe-eyed and fresh for this - think Lyanna Stark at the Tower of Joy. No, no no no not that Lyanna Stark, the historical one! Did you even - no, I just - not Ros, Petyr! I want brunettes or blondes for this --"

 

Loras tuned his boyriend out. Renly could get pretty tense right before a major shoot, and a ten-page spread for Starfall was about as major as one could get. Ashara Dayne didn't just hire any photographer - she only hired the best, and this was not an opportunity that Renly wanted to waste.

 

His phone buzzed.

 

Loras' eyes widened.

 

 

 

 

Beside him, Renly hung up viciously. "Ugh, Baelish," he griped. "He never gives me good models. And he's such a whiner - everyone knows that there hasn't been a redhead on Starfall in the last two decades. If he has a problem with that, he should take it up with Ashara Dayne, not me."

 

"If redheads are so unpopular, why are we so into Beardy?" Loras asked, while tapping a text to Margaery.

 

 

"I never said they were unpopular, love, just that Starfall's editor-in-chief has an inexplicable vendetta against gingers," Renly explained patiently. "Gingers can be very attractive. Exhibit A - Beardy."

 

"I saw him yesterday unloading their van - ugh, so domestic - but his pants, Renly. I swear, every angle is his angle."

 

"A double espresso shot hazel frappe with extra whip, please, and a white chocolate mocha," Renly instructed the barista.

 

"Make the mocha non-fat, with extra whip," Loras added.

 

"If you're to add extra whip anyway, why make it non-fat at all?" the mousy-looking girl at the counter asked irritably.

 

"Oh, love, just ring it up," Renly replied breezily. "I've had a year to work out his logic, but it always escapes me."

 

Loras' phone buzzed again.

 

 

His brow furrowed. Send her clothes?

~

 

That afternoon, Loras came home to find Margaery lounging on his couch, flipping through channels on his TV.

 

"Wha - how did you get in here?" he sputtered.

 

Margaery sat up, and tossed her hair back. "Don't be silly, Loras, you always keep your spare keys in the hanging roses. I've put my suitcases in the guestroom - you won't be needing it, yeah?"

 

"No, but I -"

 

"And I knew you had a thing for shoes, but even I don't have that many pairs anymore."

 

"They're not all mine, some of them are Renly's," he gritted out. "Just like this apartment. It's Renly's."

 

"Oh please, this is practically yours now as much as his. You've already got your roses up by the door. And you --" her eyes narrowed -- "--have been keeping secrets from me."

 

"What? No!" he protested. He flopped onto the couch next to her. "I told you I've been seeing someone."

 

"You didn't tell me you'd moved in with him already!" Margaery snapped. "So spill. And if you left the townhouse for this --" she gestured to their surroundings "--it must be very serious."

 

"The townhouse was huge, and I didn't want to pay for the cleaning service."

 

"You don't pay for the cleaning service. Grandmother does."

 

"Well, maybe I just didn't want to waste money."

 

Margaery arched an eyebrow, and looked at his expensive stingray leather jacket meaningfully.

 

"Fine, I like him."

 

Margaery's other eyebrow shot up to join the other one.

 

Loras flushed. "Fine! So I like him a lot. What's it to you?"

 

"Well, you're not exactly the monogamous type, Loras. I never thought you'd settle down for a boring relationship involving fidelity and joint shoe racks at all."

 

He shot her a dirty look. "I am capable of commitment, you know."

 

"Of course, of course. I just thought that you'd maximize the model lifestyle the moment you landed in King's Landing, with drugs and parties and scandals involving sex with your photographer."

 

Loras said nothing, but of course Margaery saw right through it. "You are? Shut up! I thought this only happened in bad tabloids!"

 

"My life is not a bad tabloid." Loras announced with as much dignity as he could muster.

 

"Of course, of course." Margaery conceded again. "So. Is the sex great? Is it, like, a secret affair? Tell me everything."

 

He sighed. He knew his sister well enough to know that she would not let go of this for another two hours if he didn't give her at least a shred of information. "It's not really a secret. We're not working on any active projects together, anyway, so it's cool. Yes, the sex was great. Yes --"

 

"Hold on," Margaery interrupted. "What do you mean the sex was great? Why was and not is? Are you getting bored with monogamous sex? Have you tried --"

 

"Okay, that's enough about me," Loras said firmly, getting up to retrieve a bottle of wine. He was going to need it, if Margaery was indeed planning on staying the night. "What have you been doing? What's this about an MA you're taking?"

 

"A degree in preparation for my political career, dearest. I can't possibly be Westeros' first female and lesbian Hand of the Realm without a higher understanding of gender politics, can I?" Margaery replied smoothly.

 

Their conversation devolved into inane gossip about Garlan's new wife when Renly arrived.

 

~

 

Thankfully, Renly was a darling, and he didn't say anything about Margaery staying at their apartment. In fact, in the first two weeks of Margaery's stay at Blue Knight St., Renly hardly came home at all.

 

"What did I do wrong, Marg?" Loras sobbed into his Tears of Lys. Margaery made soothing noises. "Is he bored with me? Was I just a toy? I can learn the Meereenese Knot for him if he wants, I just want him to love me."

 

She signalled the bartender. "I need two more Tears of Lys here," she called, before going back to rubbing Loras' back.

"Marg, he can't leave me. What am I going to do if the sun sets?" he demanded. He gestured wildly with his drink, and half of the liquid sloshed out. "I mean, there are light bulbs and candles, I guess, but --"

 

The bartender slammed their new drinks in front of them, and pointedly began to mop up the mess Loras made. Loras downed his drink.

 

~

 

  


~

 

Margaery discreetly slipped the bartender a dragon. "This should cover us for the rest of the night." She turned to Loras. "Maybe we should switch to beer or wine." She winced when Loras swayed a bit in his stool.

 

"Ugh, beer makes me break out," he said miserably. "And  if I break out, he won't want me anymore." He burst into a fresh bout of tears.

 

"If he leaves you  over pimples, he wasn't worth it at all," the bartender said dryly. "I'd give you a free drink because you look so sad, but I won't because this whole business is stupid."

 

"Do you think he loves me?" Loras asked in a tiny voice. The bartender snorted.

 

"No, I think he's using you for sex. But that's just me." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and left to serve the cute blonde who just walked in. Margaery would kill to pull off that deep v-neck top she was wearing, but tonight was about Loras, not her.

 

"I'm sure he loves you," Margaery assured her brother. "You just need to spice up your sex life every now and then to make sure he stays interested."

 

"How?!" Loras demanded. "We haven't had sex in two weeks, and he hasn't even come home to me for cuddles."

 

"So you should show up at his shoot venues and fuck him in his editing room."

 

He stilled. "I could do that."

 

"And after you've convinced him that he needs to come home, you can surprise him with a present." Margaery smirked, and nodded towards the table to their right. Beardy sat there, gorgeous and flushed from the beer he and his friends were drinking.

 

~

 

 

~

 

"With compliments from that guy by the bar," the waitress announced, and set a Meereenese Knot in front of Robb.

 

At the bar, a good-looking man smiled at him lazily. Robb colored. He knew this guy from somewhere, but he couldn't remember where from after having ingested six beers.

 

"Oho!" Smalljon boomed. "Pretty boy's bein' picked up by a pretty girl, and is she hot!"

 

"What's she saying?" Owen slurred. "Is she saying she can do a Meereenese Knot?"

 

"No, I don't think its her," Robb interrrupted. He met Brunet's eyes. Brown Hair winked.

 

~

 

"Well, it looks like you have a chance after all," Margaery cheered. "He's interested."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Media taken from:  
> http://iphonesmsgenerator.com/  
> http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/tall-glass-cold-sparkling-water-isolated-white-background-39310852.jpg  
> http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lYj67ZtENGE/TvUgjkiUKnI/AAAAAAAAClY/cTP5_5_sQ0Y/s1600/image001.jpg  
> http://cocktails.lovetoknow.com/cocktail-recipes/tom-collins-drink-recipe  
> http://www.thekitchn.com/recipe-cherry-sour-sparkler-10-minute-happy-hour-190286
> 
> Unfortunately, our receipt making site for The Night's Watch appears to be down. *booo* So we won't be able to post Night's Watch receipts until they manage to repair the site. If two weeks from now, it still isn't back online, we'll move to a different receipt maker.


	5. Double Espresso Shot Hazelnut Frappe, White Chocolate Mocha With Non-Fat Milk and Extra Whip, Black Coffee, and a New Model, Please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you blind, boy?" Renly raged. "Vintage pendant earrings means last season's pendant earrings! What were you thinking when you put these colors together?"
> 
> Addam stared at his feet and mumbled, "Color blocking." 
> 
> "On a red-haired model?" he yelled.

Renly hated Petyr Baelish.

That oaf had gone ahead and sent him Ros, and it had been two days of hell ever since. Renly had no idea how girl managed to make a green Kate Spade dress look slutty, but somehow she had.

He might as well scrap the idea now -- the last of the summer light had gone-- and Ashara Dayne had decided to move his spread to the October issue.

"No, this is all wrong!" he cried, when Ros came out of the dressing room in a blue-and-yellow fiasco. "Addam, I told you not to put her in Betsey Johnson!"

 

 

"Are you blind, boy?" Renly raged. "Vintage pendant earrings means last season's pendant earrings! What were you thinking when you put these colors together?"

Addam stared at his feet and mumbled, "Color blocking."

"On a red-haired model?" he yelled. 

~

He fired Addam.

~

Later in the afternoon, Renly received a brief email from Ellaria Sand.

 

~

Ros ended up fired too.

~

"I have no stylist, I have no model -- what am I going to do?!" Renly complained to Loras over his usual hazelnut frappe at the Night's Watch.

"Scope out your own model," Loras suggested. "That's what you did with me."

"I'm going to need a new concept too - something better suited for the autumn lighting we're getting now," Renly continued. "The entire project got scrapped, but they kept the staff for the October issue. Except Addam and Ros, of course."

Margaery wrinkled her nose. "Blue and yellow on a redhead? What was he thinking of when he came up with that, primary school?"

Renly heaved a sigh. "We're meeting at Starfall to discuss the concept tomorrow, Ellaria and me. They have a special project lined up for the 500th issue and I suppose I'm shooting that now."

~

It turned out that they weren't meeting at the Starfall offices. Renly stared up at the entrance to Maegor's Holdfast. All of Taena Merryweather's refurbishing couldn't erase the sense of foreboding that washed over everyone who enters the lobby of the museum.

"Hello, darling!"Ellaria Sand climbed out of her chauffeur-driven Sand Steed, and she swooped up the steps towards him. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes. Why are we in a museum, instead of the office?"

"To meet the star of your shoot, of course! Now come." She swept off.

Renly trailed after her.

"They have a special exhibit this month. From Robert's Rebellion. You know, the one that unseated the Targaryens?"

"Of course I know this, I'm a Baratheon." Renly rolled his eyes. His parents had been big on family history(they even had the original Baratheon crowns at Storm's End). "My brothers and I are named for the first three Baratheon kings."

"Oh yes, that's lovely," Ellaria replied distractedly. "The collection is here somewhere -- ah, there." She led them into a room full of glass cases and mannequins wearing armor.

"See that?" She pointed at a case full of rubies. "Those are the rubies from Rhaegar Targaryen's breastplate. From what I heard, it took the curators ten years to track all of them down."

"You want me to feature rubies at the shoot?"

"Oh no, we aren't there yet. Robert's warhammer." She nodded towards another case.

Renly knew that warhammer well. He had been the one who had loaned it to the museum, after all. He, Robert, and Stannis had broken multiple bones playing with the thing as children. "My brother named his band after that warhammer."

"And here we are!"

They came to a stop by a case, where the shards of a beautiful, milky white blade lay. "This is the blade of the greatsword, Dawn. That’s all that’s left. The pommel has been lost for centuries. Some people say it shattered against the blade of an Other. That's what the stories say, anyway."

"You want me to feature a broken sword in a fashion shoot?"

"No, I want you to feature a whole replica of this sword in a fashion shoot," Ellaria corrected. "Not many people know this, but Dawn was House Dayne's ancestral sword. For the 500th issue, Ashara wants to pay homage to their roots."

"Hmm."Renly considered it. "I could do that. Where do you want it shot? I'm assuming in Dorne?"

Ellaria nodded. "At Starfall."

"The office? Not very- -"

"At the castle," she interrupted. "Ashara's family home. It's a beautiful place: beaches, white stone towers. I emailed you pictures so you know what you have to work with."

Renly checked his phone

~

~

"She's made you creative director of the shoot as well."

Renly's stomach swooped.

"Don't let her down, Renly," Ellaria continued. "This shoot is very important to her, and of the photographers we went through, you seemed to be the most capable of pulling it off."

"I won't," he swore.

"So, let's talk details…"

~

Renly made it home really late that evening. He'd had to ignore several texts from Loras because he, Ellaria, and the team she had put together had blazed their way through the brainstorming session for the Sword of Morning shoot. They already have a rough look in mind for the clothes, hair, and make up, and everyone had agreed with him on the model. She had to be tall, platinum blonde, blue-eyed and fashionably athletic.

On his way up the stairs, he bumped into a tall, platinum blonde girl, with blue eyes and a fashionably athletic figure.

"Oh, sorry," Leggy Blonde grunted. She was at least three inches taller than him, and Renly wasn't short.

As she pushed past him, and went up the stairs, Renly was unable to do anything but stare at her legs and dream of them clad in calf-length Louboutin boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to CommaSplice for editing this chapter! :)
> 
> All photographs of the clothes were taken from their respective designers' websites.


	6. Dark Roast Latte, Double Sugar, Double Cream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne blinked. “You want me. To model. For you. In Starfall.”

“Hey Dad. How are you doing?” Brienne tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder, and pulled on her track pants.

“Fine,” her dad answered, sounding tired through the phone.

Brienne’s brow furrowed. “Are you feeling well? You sound sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just miss you, sweetling. How’s work?”

“It’s okay. Hyle was being an ass, but it’s nothing I couldn’t handle.” Brienne padded towards the kitchen to pour herself some milk. “I’ll be taking a month vacation, though – Lannister said he’d fire me if I didn’t take my last two years’ worth of leave.”

“I agree with him completely. You should take more time off, dear. You’ll be coming home yes?”

“Of course,” she assured him. “I’ve already bought tickets home, but I could only book a flight on the last week of October. Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s alright. Everyone’s flying home for Smith’s Day. What will you do until then?”

“I don’t know yet. I might take up Lannister’s offer to go racing in the Westerlands, but won’t it be weird? He is sort of my boss.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” her dad reminded her gently. “Just remember to drive safely if you do decide to go racing.”

“I will, don’t worry. I’m going out to jog now, dad – I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

“All right then. Have a good run. Goodbye!”

He hung up.

Brienne pulled on her trainers and went through her warm-up stretches. What could she do in a whole month? Travelling was out of the question. All the trains and planes were booked this time of the year. She could drive up to the Vale for some hiking or mountain climbing, but just thinking of the journey was exhausting.

She could always hole up in her apartment with a bunch of movies, but the thought of being indoors for four weeks on end was unappealing.

She’ll just have to Google for some ideas later. Brienne shoved her Fitbit on and headed out.

~

She rounded the corner by the café on Blue Knight Street and almost ran into the young man from last night.

“Oh, sorry,” she grunted, just barely stopping herself from spilling the drinks he was bringing on a tray.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it, no harm done.” His eyes were astonishingly blue. “I think we bumped into each other last night too, on the stairs at our apartment.” He fell into step beside Brienne.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Brienne mumbled, flushing. He must think her a klutz. She could already feel him studying her legs, and she tensed. Before he could comment on anything, she blurted, “So you live there too?”

“Oh, yeah. I live at 2A. I’ve never seen you before, though. Are you new?”

Brienne shook her head. “I get home late from work, and leave pretty early too. I’ve lived here for a while now. I’m up at 5B.”

“I see,” the man said. “Well, at least now we’ve met. I’m Renly. I’d shake your hand, but –” he raised the coffee cups apologetically.

“Uh, Brienne,” she replied.

Renly grinned at her. “So, what’s got you out of the house so early and back so late?”

She felt herself reddening. This man was so gorgeous it was unfair. “Umm, just work, mostly,” she stammered. “I work a lot.”

“Modeling?” He asked. “You’ve certainly got the looks for it.”

Oh no. She had his number now – he was just another douche who called her Brienne the Beauty for a laugh. Just like Hyle.

“I think it’s quite obvious that I don’t. If you’ll excuse me.” Even though she was already cooling down from her run, Brienne broke into a fresh sprint.

“What did I do? Was it something I said?” she heard faintly in the background.

~

The next morning, when Brienne dropped by the Night’s Watch to get her coffee, Renly was already waiting for her on the table next to the door.

“Dark-roast latte, double sugar, double cream,” he said, holding out a large cup of coffee.

Brienne stared.  He shrugged. “I asked Gilly what your usual order is. Do you have some time? I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

Well, she had time. A month’s worth, actually. She nodded and took a seat with Renly.

“First of all,” Renly began, “I want to apologize for yesterday. I think I might’ve made you uncomfortable, but I assure you that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s fine,” Brienne replied curtly. “I know I’m ugly. I’m used to the stares.”

Renly’s eyebrows shot up. “Ugly?! Who’s been putting that sort of nonsense in your head?”

She started. “Well, it’s just, er, everyone used to say –”  

“Clearly they were blind,” he interrupted. “Look at you! Legs up to here, and your eyes! They’re bluer than mine, I’d say. I’ve never heard your name in the fashion circles, though. Gilly said you were a designer?”

“For cars.” She should really give Gilly a talking to about divulging personal information. “I design cars.”

“Oh, my bad. I’m a fashion photographer, see, and I would’ve looked through your stuff for my next shoot. Although now that I think about it –” he eyed her clothes critically –“you don’t look like a fashion designer. How silly of me.”

“Well. Um. Yeah.”

“Anyway, the point is,” Renly continued, “I’m really sorry for yesterday. You must’ve thought I was harassing you or something. I was staring at your legs for so long even Gilly noticed. I assure you it was all purely from a professional standpoint, and that I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything. Not that I wouldn’t. If I weren’t gay and taken, I would be interested.”

Brienne felt her cheeks warm up. “Um. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. So. Cars?”

Cars. That she could talk about. “Yes. I design cars for Brightroar. I work with the engines, mostly.”

Renly’s eyes brightened. “Brightroar? I drive a Brightroar, you know. Beautiful thing and it drives so well.”

She nodded. “So the black 458 parked at the complex is yours, then? The engine in that car is one of mine.”

“Well, congratulations then! The engine in that is a work of art, really. I suppose you know that – you probably drive all sorts of fast cars everyday.”

“Not really,” Brienne corrected. “I usually test drive the cars I’m working with currently. Sometimes I have stuff like the 458. Sometimes I have that nasty 207.” She shuddered.

“That is a horrid car,” Renly agreed. “My boyfriend’s father used to own one. Is it salvageable, though? I don’t know understand why Brightroar bought Peugeot at all.  I don’t think anyone not even the person who made the 458’s engine can fix that.”

“Oh?” Brienne leaned back, glaring. She could take any insult to her looks, but an insult to her work was not acceptable. Especially since she knew for a fact that the 207 was salvageable, and someone with enough skill - like her - can turn the 207 into a good car. “You don’t think I can salvage that car, do you? I’ll have you know, I’ve worked on the gearbox for months, and when we start production again in March -”

There was a flash.

~

~

When Renly turned up at the Night’s Watch that afternoon, he had a large camera slung over his neck, a sheaf of photographs, and a wide grin.

Brienne quirked an eyebrow. “Going to a shoot?”

“If all goes well, yes,” he replied cheerfully. He set down his things at her table. “Hold on, let me just get our coffee.”

“Sure. You mind if I look through your photos?”

But Renly had already turned his back and left.

She shrugged and reached for his photographs anyway. Most of them were of the same red-haired model in green or blue dresses. Brienne didn’t know much about fashion, but the model was pretty and the pictures were good. There was a startling amount of colors in the outfits, though. Blue and yellow on a red-haired model?

“Ugh, that shoot was a disaster. Stop looking at those pictures.”

Brienne jumped. “Oh, sorry – I asked if I could see them, but you already left. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t, usually,” Renly assured her. “But those pictures are just terrible, and to be honest, I’m quite ashamed of them.”

Uncertainly, she flipped through the pictures again. “I thought, um, that they were good.” She gathered up the photos and passed them over to Renly.

A snapshot fell out of the sheaf.

“Oh, let me get that –”

“I’ll pick it up –”

  
  


Brienne picked up the snapshot and stilled. It was the photograph from the last time they had coffee, but Renly had recolored the photo to a grayscale that somehow flattered her face. She was glaring at the camera, leaning back, head cocked slightly in defiance. Her hair was tousled in a surprisingly fashionable way, and her cheekbones looked sharper in the lighting.

She cleared her throat. “I thought you’d already deleted this?”

“I deleted it from my phone after I moved it to my hard drive,” Renly admitted. “You’re not going to walk out again, are you? Because I do have something important to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” She put the photograph down.

“Yes. I’m doing a shoot in Dorne for Starfall, and I think you would be perfect for the concept. Would you like to model for me?”

Brienne blinked. “You want me. To model. For you. In Starfall.”

But Renly looked absolutely serious. “I mean it, Brienne. I’ve gone through all of Petyr Baelish’s girls, and I even looked through all the lookbooks of the more reputable Essosi modeling agencies. But really you’re my best bet.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he rushed on. “I know you’re not a model, and that you have zero experience in the industry, but I brought my camera over today so you could at least have a go at it before you refuse completely.”

“I’m already employed, Renly. It’s not like I can take a long leave from work just to make it to your shoot –”

Her cell rang.  It was her boss.

“Hold on, let me just take this call,” she told Renly apologetically. He waved his hand at her vaguely, and took a sip of his coffee. Brienne took this as permission and answered the phone.

“Lannister.”

“Wench. Take three months off work, yeah?”

“Three months?!” Brienne spluttered. “I thought it was only for a month! Why not just fire me and get it over with?”

“I’ll be paying you, it’s paid leave and things, whatever. Go to Sothyros or something. Or Yi Ti. I’ve heard through the grapevine that winter is coming, and I sure as hell would rather spend it somewhere sunny than in the North.”

“Why don’t you take three months off, then, Jaime?” she demanded. “Don’t drag me into this!”

“In fact, you should charge your trip to Asshai on the company credit card. Okay? Your pay will be on the 30th, as usual. Have a good trip bye.”

“How do you know my pay comes on the 30th? You’re not even in HR – Jaime? Jaime?!”

The line went dead. She stared at her phone in disbelief.

“So,” Renly said carefully. “You’re out of a job.”

“I wasn’t fired,” Brienne said automatically. “My boss is making me take a three-month leave.”

“Still, you’ll be idle for three months. I suppose you could go to Yi Ti. Or, you know. Dorne.”

Brienne glanced at the snapshot again. Her own eyes looked back at her, glaring a challenge.

“All right, I’ll give it a shot.”

Renly beamed, and whipped out his phone. “That’s great! I think you’ll like the concept of the shoot. We’re going to be doing a reinterpretation of the Sword of Morning legends.” He dragged his chair next to her and swiped through pictures on his phone. “We’re shooting in this beautiful beachside castle, and we’ll be featuring the Sword of Morning’s sword, Dawn – it’s beautiful, but that’s just a replica. The real one has been shattered for centuries. We already have some possible looks to use for the model – that’s you –”

“It’s got nipples on it,” Brienne said flatly.

“I know!” Renly beamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, we're back with a new chapter! We're sorry for disappearing for quite a while, but work must come first. There's a bunch of new material we're sitting on now, so expect semi-regular updates from here on. 
> 
> Many thanks again to our lovely beta [CommaSplice ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice) for editing this chapter, and letting us bother her with so many questions. We know you're busy, and we really appreciate that you take some time off your schedule to help us with this project. <3


	7. Mocha Frappe, Extra Whip, Caramel Syrup, Chocolate Chips and Extra Whip, Plus Two Longclaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Presenting: The Brightroar!” Jaime waved his clicker enthusiastically, and the digitally rendered images of his baby flashed unto the screen of his laptop.

Chapter 7: Jaime

“Presenting: The Brightroar!” Jaime waved his clicker enthusiastically, and the digitally rendered images of his baby flashed unto the screen of his laptop.

“Featuring a chassis made not from one, but four, types of carbon fiber, our newest technology in making a creamy seven-speed DCT gearbox, innovative carbon-ceramic brakes, and an extremely powerful six-liter V12 engine working in tandem with an electric motor to produce a mind-blowing 940 brake horsepower. It’ll be magnificent! _Groundbreaking_ , even.”

He beamed at Tyrion, who blinked his mismatched eyes blearily.

“I’m sorry; I know nothing about cars so everything you just said is meaningless to me.”

Jaime pouted and flopped down onto the couch beside Tyrion. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t have any critique. You always do.”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s pretty useless,” Tyrion replied tiredly. “I’ve had a shit day at the court trying to defend Casterly’s mines in the Summer Isles.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Let’s hear those comments.”

His brother dragged a hand down his face. “Well, for starters, why’d you call it the Brightroar? If that’s both the model name and the brand name, you’ll be selling a car named the Brightroar: The Brightroar.”

“Because this car is going to represent what a Brightroar _should_ be. The ideal Brightroar, if you will. Looks beautiful, drives beautiful, and will take you from Lannisport to the Wall in under three seconds if you put your foot down.”

“Beautifully,” Tyrion mumbled. “Drives beautifully.”

“Whatever.” Jaime grabbed his Longclaw from Tyrion’s coffee table, and began spreading strawberry jam over it. “All I care about is that the board approves this. I’d hate it if I sent the wench away for nothing.”

“The wench? You mean Brienne?”

“Yeah.” He took a large bite of pastry and gulped down his coffee gracelessly.  “I told her to take a vacation in Yi Ti for a couple of months, and when she comes back I can surprise her with a body that can handle that beautiful engine of hers.”

“We’re not talking about the car, are we?” asked Tyrion bluntly.

“Not one bit,” Jaime confirmed.

~

“Presenting: The Brightroar!” Jaime waved his clicker enthusiastically, and the digitally rendered images of his baby flashed unto the white screen at the far end of the conference room.

“Featuring a chassis made not from one, but four, types of carbon fiber, our newest technology in making a creamy seven-speed DCT gearbox, innovative carbon-ceramic brakes, and an extremely powerful six-liter V12 engine working in tandem with an electric motor to produce a mind-blowing 940 brake horsepower. It’ll be magnificent! _Groundbreaking_ , even.”

He beamed at his RnD team, who looked back at him with their usual disinterest. Except Podrick, that is. Pod always looked frightened enough to piss himself at team meetings. Well, when Brienne wasn’t around to hide him, anyway.

“That the new engine the wench came up with?” Addam drawled. “Can’t wait to drive it.”

Jaime glared at him. “You’re not even supposed to be here. Test drivers don’t get to sit in production concept meetings, Marbrand.”

The bastard shrugged. “I’m your best friend?”

He rolled his eyes. “We begin work on the prototype next week. Blount, get your team together to make the body. I sent you the design last week.That should’ve given you enough time to have it done a month from now.”

“A month?!”

“Trant, I need your diff,” Jaime steamrollered over Blount. “Is the recalibration from the 459 done yet? Pod should have the latest numbers in for you. Greenfield, you’ve been working on that new braking system for ages. Any progress?”

“Well, it’s been going –”

“M-mr. Lannister,ser,” Podrick interrupted.

All heads swiveled to Podrick. The poor kid shrank into his seat.

Well, this was new. Half the team has probably never even heard him talk.

“Yes, Podrick?”

“Ms. Brienne is on leave for two months, Mr. Lannister, Ser,” he stammered.

“Three, actually.” Jaime corrected. “I told her to visit Asshai. Lovely city.”

“You sent her to Asshai?” Addam asked incredulously. “Right when you need the wench the most to lug your project of out the shop?”

"Ser, wasn't it to Yi Ti --"

“I don’t need her to lug it out of the shop!” Jaime snapped, stung. “I can handle this project myself. I sent her out because she’s already done her job with the engine, and if she stays here, you louts will bully her into doing your jobs for you.”

The entire table erupted into protests.

“Shut up!” he thundered, green eyes flashing. “I don’t want to hear your excuses or your cover-ups. I know exactly who skipped out on a month of work last quarter just to watch the Hound put the Mountain in second at the race in Crakehall. I had to live in the shop for a month just to get the 459 out to production.”

Everyone shut up and looked at him warily. The bastards couldn’t even deny it.

“Yeah, I wasn’t in Lannisport. I was here.” He spared another poisonous glare at his team, before dropping back into his seat. “A month,” Jaime growled. “A month, and if your work isn’t excellent, you’ll be working for Peugeot. Any questions?”

Podrick raised a trembling hand.

“Yes, Podrick?” Jaime acknowledged. Two questions in one meeting?  The boy’s used up his monthly quota already.

“S-ser Mr. Lannister,ser,” he stuttered. “Has the board approved the um, funding for the Brightroar TheBrightroar?”

~

“Presenting: The Brightroar.” Jaime gulped.

“Featuring a carbon –”

“Which model?” Aunt Genna asked briskly.

“The Brightroar.” He wished he had taken Tyrion’s advice. “That’s the model name I gave it.”

“Just the Brightroar?” Uncle Kevan peered at him over his glasses. “Why?”

Uncle Gerion leaned back, his arm behind his head. “Won’t that be confusing, though? It’ll be the car from Brightroar called the Brightoar. The Brightroar…the Brightroar.” He scratched his chin. “It sounds funny now. BrightroarBrightroarBrightroarBrightroarBrightroar Bright –”

“Enough, Gerion.” Father sighed. He nodded at Jaime. “Continue.”

“Well, um, it’ll feature a body and chassis made completely of carbon fiber – ”

“Haven’t the Dornish done that?” Genna interrupted. “The Six or something like that?”

“Well, yes –”

“So why are we doing it?”

“The Six isn’t road legal, Genna,” Kevan said reasonably. “I’m assuming this Brightroar is meant to be road legal?”

Jaime corrected him. “ _The_ Brightroar.”

“Apologies,” his uncle said with a good-natured smile. “So the Brighroar is meant to be road legal, then?”

“Yes.” He flicked through his photos. “Unlike Sand Steed’s Six, the Brightroar will include metal parts – the engine, for one, really needs to use stronger materials or it’ll wear itself out. And carbon-fiber seats don’t really do much for comfort and luxury – two things the Brightroar needs in order to become the pinnacle of Brightroar engineering.”

“There it is again. Brightroar. Still sounds funny.”

“Gerion,” Father snapped. Uncle Gerion muttered apologies, but Jaime was hyperaware of his father’s calculating gaze drilling straight through him. “The pinnacle of Brightroar technology?” he demanded.

Jaime met his stare head on and nodded. “I intend it to be.”

“There is no room for intentions.” Father said brusquely. “Is it, or is it not, the pinnacle of _all_ automotive technology? If not, you cannot name it – ” and here his father’s voice turned acidic – “ _The_ Brightroar.”

“It will be.” Jaime pronounced resolutely.

His father hummed. “What will it feature?”

The presentation was impressive. Jaime had made sure it was. He’d even managed to wrangle data from Sand Steed and RYS’s latest projects. There were video clips from earlier prototypes that used Brienne’s engine, and even if the body couldn’t keep up with the engine, the potential in it was clear.

“It’ll produce 940 bhp. It’s mind-blowing. Groundbreaking, even.”

“And Sand Steed’s hybrid supercar? Have you seen it in action?” Aunt Genna asked.

“Their final car isn’t even up to par with our earliest prototypes,” Jaime gloated.

“And RYS?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’ve given out stat sheets, and you can see that The Brightroar outstrips both the Sand Steed and the RYS by miles.”

Uncle Gerion looked suitably impressed. Uncle Kevan was studying the sheets Jaime had passed around very intently, and Aunt Genna looked like she was calculating costs already.

“Coupled with that aerodynamic body and all the innovative technologies we’ve poured into that car, The Brightroar has the potential to become the best car in the world, by any standard.”

Father stared at him for a full minute, before turning to Uncle Kevan. “I’ll approve it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, we'd like to thank the lovely [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice) for beta-reading this work! 
> 
> The Brightroar The Brightroar is based on the car [The Ferrari LaFerrari](http://auto.ferrari.com/en_EN/sports-cars-models/car-range/laferrari/). It's a wonderful car - it proves that supercars can be environmentally friendly. Unfortunately, it suffers the same nomenclature problems as the Brightroar The Brightroar. Sand Steed's Six is loosely based on [Lamborghini's Sesto Elemento](http://www.lamborghini.com/en/masterpieces/sesto-elemento/overview/#!slide/4521), and RYS is what we imagine the Ryswell's small, Northern automotive company, not unlike MacLaren. They're building the [P1](http://cars.mclaren.com/P1) to combat the Brightroar. We haven't figured out who would be Germans in this universe, so sorry Porsche. 
> 
> All photographs taken from Ferrari. It's a beautiful car.


	8. Irish, Three Shots Whiskey, Extra Cream, Sugar, And Whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Coffee for Pod?” The barista called out. Pod shot up, and fled the table to fetch his coffee.
> 
> “Irish, three shots whiskey, extra cream, sugar, and whip,” the barista announced loudly and winked at Pod.
> 
> “I – I didn’t order an Irish –”
> 
> “If you like your men as dirty as your coffee, here’s my number,” the barista whispered, passing him a small note.
> 
> “But I didn’t ask for – ”
> 
> “Coffee for Margaery?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thegracious and I are planning a new tie-in work with Lattes and Longclaws. It's going to be a purely multimedia work, with hopefully images, text, and audio as well! However, we're going to need a lot of help for the project to be successful. As of now, we are in need of people to voice characters for us, and if you're interested, please leave a message for me on my [tumblr account](http://kimdmagicdragon.tumblr.com/).

“I want him.”

Pod studiously ignored both Lannister brothers, and focused on his Ceramics textbook.

“I found him first,” Mr. Tyrion whined.

“Go find someone else, then!” Mr. Jaime snapped back. “He’s happier with me.”

“He’s happier with _Brienne_ ,” Mr. Tyrion corrected.

“You don’t _need_ a baby engineer, Tyrion!”

“I _do_ need someone to write my transcripts for me, though.”

“Come on, that’s like asking Stephen Hawking to play fetch!”

Podrick looked up. “That would actually be, er, difficult, Mr. Lannister, ser. He’d need a ball catcher and a specialized motor, and, um, his hand-eye coordination.” He looked to the side. “He doesn’t, er, have any.”

“See!” Mr. Tyrion crowed triumphantly. “Podrick agrees that work with me will be enjoyable and intellectually challenging at the same time. Now come along, Pod; we need you over at Legal.”

Podrick turned to Mr. Jaime uncertainly. “But the ceramic disks for the brakes aren’t finished yet! Even if Ms. Brienne is going on vacation, I still need to help the rest of the team, um, right?”

Mr. Jaime clapped him on the shoulder, grinning widely at his brother. “Pod’s a team player, little brother. He won’t leave his team. Go look for someone else to write your transcripts.”

Mr. Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll leave you to work on your Brightroar Brightroar. Don’t come crying to me if you get sent out to deliver flash drives again, Podrick.”

“I won’t,” Podrick promised. He’d passed the fetch-and-carry intern stage now, right?

Mr. Tyrion left to jeering from Mr. Jaime.

Satisfied that his brother had finally gone, Mr. Jaime turned to Podrick, looking a bit sheepish. “Hey, Pod, about delivering flash drives…”

~

Pod was running late.

This was generally not a good idea, but Brienne really needed the files tonight before her leave started, and that started tomorrow.

Rainbow Guard Boulevard. That was his stop. He got off the tram and started running. Four blocks later, Podrick turned into Blue Knight Street and nearly ran into a guy carrying four cups of coffee, heading for a black Brightroar 458. Nice car, great condition. Pod approved. 

“Sorry!” He yelled over his shoulder, but didn’t stop running until he reached 64. That mini-van was new. Someone must’ve moved into the first floor, he concluded. He didn’t envy them the Peugeot – they’d be in the shop every three weeks to get something or other fixed.

He had let himself into the hall and had started clambering up the stairs when Sansa Stark, of all people, came out of the door to the first floor apartment.

Pod dropped the flash drive and Brienne’s keys. Helunged over the balustrade to catch them and –

Wow, that hurt. He sat up, groaning.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Sansa Stark gasped, running to his side. “You should have just climbed down – Mr. Payne?”

“Oh, Sans – umm, Ms. Stark.” That was probably safe. She called him Mr. Payne. He scrambled to his knees.

“Here,” Sansa Stark said, handing him his flash drive and keys. He looked up, and accidentally made eye contact.

Her eyes were really blue.

He dropped his keys again.

The flash drive wasn’t dented or anything, though, so it was probably fine. At least he wasn’t carrying an EHD or a tablet.

“Mr. Payne, um, what are you doing here?” Sansa Stark asked, looking at her feet.

Podrick looked at his feet too. “Just, uh, files for my boss. Stuff. Er, I was supposed to bring it. You know, to her.”

“Oh!” she said. “Is it for Ms. Brienne? She left, um, about twenty minutes ago. She told me to watch out for you, and to tell you she’ll be back by six. Something about a work meeting?”

That wasn’t on Brienne’s Google calendar. Or Jaime’s.

“A meeting until six?” he repeated blankly.

“Yeah.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She did the same thing the last time he had seen her, on the last day of the –

“You could wait at the coffee shop by the corner,” she offered. “For Ms. Brienne, I mean. It’s just an hour or so until she comes back. I’m going there for WiFi too, so –”

“Okay,” he blurted.

Shit. He’d meant to say no.

“Er, okay,” Sansa Stark said, clearly surprised. “Let me just lock my door.”

~

“Latte, triple shot, extra whip, extra cream, extra sugar,” Podrick mumbled.

The cashier’s eyebrows shot up, but she punched in his order anyway. “You want anything with that?”

“No –yes. Is there a password for the WiFi?”

“Password’s ‘theoldbear’, no spaces, small caps. That’ll be fourteen stags.”

Pod’s eyes widened, but he pulled out his wallet anyway. The coffee here wasn’t usually this expensive. Had they raised prices or something?

His order placed, he shuffled off to the table where Sansa Stark was looking pensively out the window. It wasn’t weird, right? They weren’t going to talk to each other, right? He was just waiting for someone; she was just waiting for someone. They might as well do it at the same table.

He sat down, putting his bag on the chair next to him. He contemplated working on his thesis, but she hadn’t pulled out her laptop yet. It was rude to work when you were supposed to be having coffee with someone, wasn’t it? Maybe he should say something.

He should say something.

“Your hair looks nice,” he blurted.

Shit. He shouldn’t have said that. The seminar said that counted as sexual harassment. Oh gods, why had he agreed to go?

“Oh!” Thank you,” Sansa Stark said, flushing a little. “You look well yourself, Mr. Payne.”

Does this mean _he_ was getting sexually harassed? Thinking about this made his head hurt.

“Coffee for Pod?” The barista called out. Pod shot up, and fled the table to fetch his coffee.

“Irish, three shots whiskey, extra cream, sugar, and whip,” the barista announced loudly and winked at Pod.

“I – I didn’t order an Irish –”

“If you like your men as dirty as your coffee, here’s my number,” the barista whispered, passing him a small note.

“But I didn’t ask for – ”

“Coffee for Margaery?”

Podrick went back to the table disconcerted, carrying a coffee he couldn’t drink and a number he wouldn’t call.

Was he sexually harassed for real? Or was the guy just flirting? Were flirting and sexual harassment the same?

“You didn’t order an Irish,” Ms. Sansa Stark said, peering at him over large glasses. She had already set up her computer while he was getting his coffee. Great. That means it’s safe to work.

“No, I – I don’t drink.” He put his cup down hastily, and checked his wallet to see if he had enough cash for another coffee.

“Why don’t you get your order fixed? I don’t think Gilly would mind too much.”

“No, I’ll just get another one.” Neither the cashier nor the barista looked like they could afford a deduction to their salary. Besides, he still had enough money for an extra cup.

“You should really get your order changed. It was their fault they got it wrong. Look, I’ll do it –” She reached for the cup of coffee.

“Uh, no, don’t – I’ll expense it or something.  They'll make the cashier pay for it, or, um. Yeah,” he finished lamely.

Her eyes softened. “If you say so, Mr. Payne.”

“Just, just Pod is fine.”

She gave him a small smile. “Just Sansa, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, YAY [CommaSplice!](https://www.google.com.ph/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CBwQFjAAahUKEwiF8aiB04rHAhWOUI4KHSVKBc4&url=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fusers%2FCommaSplice%2Fpseuds%2FCommaSplice&ei=cS6-VcX0GY6huQSllJXwDA&usg=AFQjCNHYrLXbe7HeL8qL2wRqaJ_qZATYXg&sig2=Gad8YQtEBxE-xrs07HXA0A&bvm=bv.99261572,d.c2E) Thanks for your help!
> 
> As for the pictures, we made the tram line ourselves, and the textbook screenshot pretty much cites itself.


	9. Hot Chocolate, Extra Whip, To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This class is for graduate students only," Hawick said, dragging her eyes away from Sansa's Keds. "I've told the department repeatedly that I will not be accepting undergrads for any of my classes."
> 
> "Er, I am a graduate student, ma'am." Sansa tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It was the glittery Keds. She knew it.

Sansa waffled outside her GS 221 class. HT 1081 was one of the department's reading rooms, and she could see through the glass pane on the door that all the seats around the conference table were taken. Apart from the one right next to the professor, that is. And she was late.

It was Arya's fault. If she hadn't insisted on driving the car, it wouldn't have broken down. If it hadn’t broken down, they wouldn't have taken the tram. If they hadn't taken the tram, Rickon, that idiot, wouldn't have spilled hot chocolate all over her cute black-and-white 'Meeting the Strict Professor' outfit and Sansa wouldn't have been late. If they had the car, it would have been easier to go back to change, and she wouldn't have had to skip her first class _and_ be late for this one.

Okay. _Relax_ , she told herself. Calm, professional, intellectual. She took a deep breath, and walked in.

Professor Hawick was in the middle of a discussion, but she stopped short when Sansa walked in.

Sansa fiddled with her skirt as all eyes swiveled over to her. She could _feel_ how intently Hawick and everyone in the class was judging her. She wanted to kill Rickon. And don't forget Arya. This is all their fault.

"This class is for graduate students only," Hawick said, dragging her eyes away from Sansa's Keds. "I've told the department repeatedly that I will not be accepting undergrads for any of my classes."

"Er, I am a graduate student, ma'am." Sansa tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It was the glittery Keds. She knew it.

"Well, then." Hawick scanned the lists. "Ms. Stark, I take it?"

A couple of the other students started whispering.

Sansa gritted her teeth. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry for being late."

"You'd better be," her professor snapped. "As I was saying before Ms. Stark arrived, I will not tolerate tardiness in my classes. Expect me to lock the doors at 1:05 sharp henceforth. If you arrive later than that, I'm sorry but you'll have to skip the class. I absolutely detest being interrupted -- aren't you going to be seated, Ms. Stark?"

"Oh! Right." Sansa scurried over to the only empty seat at the table. Hawick stared at her over her glasses, and Sansa fidgeted. "Um, is there anything else, ma'am?"

"Wouldn't you rather take off your bag first?" Hawick asked exasperatedly.

Sansa felt all of her blood rush to her face, slid off the straps of her backpack and set it on the table. Everyone stared at it.

What was wrong with her backpack, huh? It wasn't even pink!

Hawick cleared her throat. "Bags off the table. I don't even understand why I have to tell you these things."

Sansa wanted to die, and go to chevron-patterned hell.

~

"The last output required for the class is a presentation to be done in pairs, leading a discussion on certain essays in the syllabus. I've provided a list. If you'll turn to page 2 of the syllabus…"

 

"Ms. Stark." Hawick turned to Sansa again. "Why don't you take the Dayne essay, hmm? I expect you'll find it quite instructive."

A few of the older graduate students tittered, and inwardly, Sansa fumed. Not everyone wanted to dress in pencil skirts and heels every damned day, and if she didn't want to, why should they care? She couldn't wear _heels_ on the tram, could she?

"I'd prefer to do the essay on --"

"Ms. Tyrell, you'll partner with Ms. Stark for the presentation. Mr. Foote, partner with Ms. Gower and work on the Redwyne book."

Everyone, including Sansa, stared at Hawick. She wasn’t giving it to Tyrell?

Hawick just rolled her eyes impatiently, and steamrollered over everyone's disbelief. She continued assigning essays and partners -- Hawick pointedly assigned Sansa's mom's essay to someone else -- and then collected everyone's papers.

"I'll read through these and mark them for our next meeting. We'll discuss the shortcomings of your papers then. If I were you I'd reread the Ryswell essay. We'll do that on Wednesday, and on Friday we'll have our first presentation on Stormmont. Dismissed."

Hawick swept out of the room, and everyone broke off into pairs to discuss their presentations. Branch and Tavner, in particular, were looking quite panicked -- they were assigned the Stormmont essay, and were thus doomed to be the sacrificial lamb.

"So. _Starfall_." Tyrell, to her left, was tucking her syllabus into her purse.

"Yeah, I don't read _Starfall_ that much." _Anymore_ , she added mentally. Not after that disastrous incident in high school when her mom caught her reading Ashara Dayne's magazine.

"I suppose I'll need your number. And my name's Margaery, by the way." Margaery smiled at her brilliantly, and again, Sansa found herself in envy of Margaery's grown-up charm. She wasn't that much older than Sansa, was she? But she hadn't had to endure a thorough dissection of her taste in handbags.

And why would she? That Prada was immaculate.

"I'll put it in your phone." Sansa rummaged around her bag, and pulled out her own. "Put yours in mine, and I'll text you this evening, okay? Or do you want to meet up?"

Margaery's smile widened, and she handed Sansa her phone. "That would be great! Over coffee, maybe?"

"All right," Sansa replied, tapping out her number onto Margaery's iPhone. "There's this cute coffee shop a friend of mine-- oh, hey, are you related to Loras Tyrell?"

Sansa couldn't believe that she almost forgot she had already met a Tyrell.

"He's my brother. Why do you ask?"

"He lives in my building." Sansa handed Margaery her phone back.

"I live with my brother. We live in the same building, then." Margaery frowned. "How come I've never seen you before? I've been there a month, at least."

"Oh, um, I don't really go out much. And I live on the first floor, so there's really not much of a chance of meeting while walking up the stairs or something," Sansa said ruefully.

"To think we could've met up to work on our essays or something!" Margaery exclaimed. "You'll have to come over to dinner tonight. You're friends with Loras, right? We can talk about our paper and cheer him up a little. He's been feeling _awful_ , the poor thing, and having visitors always helps."

"All right then! I'll be there at 6?" Margaery nodded. "It's a da -- an appointment. I mean." Sansa flushed again, and Margaery just laughed at her.

"It's a date then," she said, winking, and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photographs of the outfit came from the brand's website. The backpack is obviously from Jansport, and the photo was pulled off their site as well. We don't own any of these. The email and the syllabus were all ours though. 
> 
> Many thanks again to [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice) for editing this work!


End file.
